


Ruin is in my Name

by Ozymanreis



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Consulting murders, Innocence, Kid!Lock, Loss of Innocence, M/M, Name Game, Some Teen!lock, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 02:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1670720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozymanreis/pseuds/Ozymanreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At first the skinny boy with bedraggled curls can't say much, a bit intimidated by the young lad leaning against the brick wall, "I know it was you." He finally blurts out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ruin is in my Name

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt #8: Innocence

He goes by "Jimmy" now. He's 14. In a few years, when he breaks out of his teens, he'll transition to "Jim." When he becomes a criminal mastermind, the only name people will know is "Moriarty." His parents call him James. They are the only ones who ever will. 

Except for Sherlock, who is different. Always been different. He calls him a great deal of things. 

 

* * *

 

When Jimmy was 11, he had been so naughty. He'd killed another boy, Carl Powers, for being a total arse. Laughing, ridiculing, bullying him… it had to stop. So Jimmy made it stop. In the end, it was easy, a bit of poison in that rotting sod's medication for his flaky skin.

Thinking he'd gotten away with it, Jimmy lived without guilt or worry. That was, until Sherlock appeared. It had been a year — they were both 12, quivering and uncertain. Sherlock had tracked him down, finding him behind the gymnasium, smoking his first cigarette (that he'd stolen from his mummy's purse).

At first the skinny boy with bedraggled curls can't say much, a bit intimidated by the young lad leaning against the brick wall, "I know it was you." He finally blurts out. 

Jimmy says nothing, but after a moment, holds out the open pack of smokes, a silent offering. The taller boy takes it, though he's only ever seen his brother smoking before. He understands the idea of it, doing his best not to choke as Jimmy lights the end. 

"You're the first to figure it out." Jimmy says somberly as his potential threat leans against the space nearest to him, "What's your name?"

"William," he replies, now worried by the tone in the suspect's voice.

"What do they call you back home?" Clearly, Jimmy had noticed Sherlock's London accent, and had traveled some ways (though he was unsure _how_ ) to have this moment with him. A glimpse of triumph, solving a crime no one else could've.

" _Freak_." He says with distaste, "But my parents call me 'Billy.'" 

This makes Jimmy giggle, "What would you _like_ to be called?"

"I think… I think I'd like to be called 'Sherlock.'" Seeing the questioning look on Jim's face, he adds, "It's my middle name."

"Interesting choice, Sherlock." He tests the name out, feeling each letter on his tongue. It's quiet again as they continue to puff away, "You already know _my_ name, I take it?" 

Sherlock nods slowly, "What did _he_ call you?" He asks, attempting to explore his new acquaintance's (friend's?) motives.

" _Freak_." Jimmy bites. 

It's silent again, but it's different. This is a silence of deep understanding. Both tortured souls, misunderstood by everyone else. Brought together by a crime either could've committed; it was just a matter of time. Sherlock returns to England, his family none the wiser. 

They write letters. Tens, hundreds. They send each other puzzles, codes, things they think will make the other grin, even have a laugh. Sometimes they sneak away to see each other. They smoke (Sherlock only smokes when Jimmy is around), they read newspapers for any good cases, they pull pranks on Sherlock's snobby brother. Jimmy's parents don't really notice when he's gone, so he can stay in London longer. But Sherlock loves going back to Dublin — it's stupidly sentimental, but he can't help it. 

At some point, Sherlock begins signing his letters with hearts. Jimmy follows suit. 

Sometimes they discuss the murder. Sometimes they discuss new murders. Together.

For two years, that's all they do. Discuss. 

 

* * *

 

Now they're 14. They're in London, hiding in Sherlock's room. No one knows Jimmy is there (though Mycroft suspects it whenever his car keys go missing). He and Sherlock are laying together, sprawled out in his bed, arms touching.

"So how was it?" Jimmy asks, rummaging around in his coat (hanging on a nearby chair) pocket for the cigarettes. 

They had just staged another murder. The first Jimmy had actually done in three years. An older boy who had punched Sherlock in the face, called him, "poofter" and told him he'd do it again. This one was easy — they used the same poison used on Carl Powers, and no one was any the wiser. 

They passed a cigarette between them. 

Sherlock inhales for a moment, then admits sheepishly, "It's my first murder." 

James ruffles his hair, "Then I guess today is the day I ruined your innocence." 

It is with the utmost respect that Sherlock replies, "Thank you."

"Anytime, dear." 

**Author's Note:**

> This IS being made into a real fic... actually, as it stands, it's a 33-chapter AU :x Working title is "The Many Names of Love." Currently in Beta!
> 
> UPDATE! Currently being posted ;) "[Les Oiseaux Rebelles](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2210496/chapters/4845504)"


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